


so we'll walk into the ocean and we'll dream of kinder days

by beyondthehorizon



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), am i projecting onto sam? perhaps, i wrote this for Me but you can read it if you want i guess, if you squint you can see a few pairings but it was written gen first and foremost, this is kinda vent-y but i had Feelings and needed to get them out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:23:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19772935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondthehorizon/pseuds/beyondthehorizon
Summary: He holds it together, the first day.





	so we'll walk into the ocean and we'll dream of kinder days

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this some few months ago, about a day after seeing Avengers: Endgame the first and last time. Its sole purpose was a vent, and I did not intend to ever publish it.  
> Then I found it like. yesterday. It's been edited a little, but is mostly still in vent form.

When Bucky Barnes is nine years old, he can't imagine a world without Steve Rogers. 

He doesn't think about it, that young; Steve just  _ is, _ in that everlasting little-kid’s way. Steve is Bucky’s best friend, and he never won't be. This is the truth of things. 

Steve is still eight but he’ll be nine just like Bucky in the summer, when the storms come and the air hangs heavy over Brooklyn. The fireworks will light the sky, and they’ll pretend they're all for Steve.

Sometimes, when they have sleepovers and they drag all the couch cushions onto the floor and sprawl across them to sleep, Bucky will be woken by Steve hacking up a lung. When they're in Steve’s apartment, his mother inevitably comes rushing in moments later to pull him up to sit and rub his chest to stop the coughing.

These nights, Bucky just watches on.

When they're older, he’ll be the one to pull Steve up from a coughing fit. He’ll rest Steve’s back against his own chest and try to mimic the gentle lilting melody his own mother would hum whenever he or Becca got sick. 

First, it’s when Steve’s mother is working late and won't be home until the hollow hours of the morning; then, it’s when she comes stumbling home coughing herself, and always, carefully, keeps herself at least five feet from Steve. 

Those days, he worries most about what happens when he’s not there. By the time they're sixteen, Bucky is spending more nights at Steve’s than in his own room. By then, Steve is sleeping in a bed rather than on the floor, where, as far as anyone else cares, Bucky still is.

If some nights (most nights), Bucky ends up crawling into Steve’s bed and wrapping himself around his narrow shoulders because he can’t stand the sound of his teeth chattering, well- it’s not like anyone has to know.

So they’re sixteen, and Bucky has started to hit his growth spurt; he’s putting on height and filling out. Steve shows no sign of doing the same.

And then Bucky’s nineteen, but it’s spring, and Steve is still eighteen, and they're so young but tuberculosis cares not for the desperate, and Steve can’t pay for rent on his own. 

It takes no convincing for Bucky’s parents to allow Steve to stay in their home. The time is hard but Steve is family. 

The first summer after Steve’s mother is gone, they go to the roof to watch the fireworks, because they always do. 

They end the night curled together, with Steve nearly in Bucky’s lap. He’s not crying, but he’s buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder, clinging desperately to his shirt. Bucky holds him tight, and it feels like he’s holding them both together.

He does so willingly, and always will. 

“I’m here, Stevie,” he whispers. Neither of them are usually for sentimentality, but this feels important, in the moment. “I’m with you. To the end of the line, always.”

Steve huffs, and pushes closer. The fireworks break the sky overhead as they face the dead, and Bucky repeats his promise to himself. To the end of the line.

* * *

He holds it together, the first day. He thinks later that it hadn’t quite hit him yet. 

He trusted Steve. After everything- their war and their ice and seventy long years- he didn't think it wouldn't be mutual.

He's happy for Steve. He got to live, at least. He was happy with Peggy; their love-that-never-was got a chance to be. She would have been good for him. This, at least, he knows.

But Sam finds him the next morning, and Sam knows he’s not okay.

There are words that cannot be said, but he supposes they don't all need to be. Not when Sam’s feeling the same thing he is: Steve did this to both of them, after all. 

“He promised,” Bucky eventually croaks out. He can't believe he's opening up to Sam Wilson, of all people. Sam’s not supposed to know Bucky can stand him, much less that he  _ enjoys _ his presence. He supposes that doesn't matter anymore. It’s just them, now. “To the end of the line, y’know. Same as I did.”

He didn't think this would be the end of the line, but here they are. Here they are, and there's no more Steve.

Sam breathes beside him. “Yeah,” he says. “I get it. He gave me the shield, you saw. But I- I don't  _ want _ it, now. The world needs a Captain America, but I don’t know if I can do that, follow in his footsteps, not when he-”

Sam breaks off and blows out a rough breath, but he's stronger than Bucky will ever be, and he swallows before finishing his sentence. “Not when he just walked away from it- from us- like that.”

And there's nothing to say to that. He's right, and there's nothing to say. Nothing to soften the blow, nothing to make it kinder. 

They watch the sun rise in silence. 

“I’ll be with you, anyway,” Bucky says eventually. Sam glances at him, brow furrowed. He shrugs. “I’ll be with you, when you pick up that shield. You're my friend too, I guess. So I’ll be with you.”

Sam just watches him, for a long time, after that. Long enough Bucky starts to worry he said the wrong thing, but finally he nods, and says, “Thank you.”

And if the sun looks a little brighter, after that? Well. Bucky’s still a man out of time- the only one, now- but he’ll have someone to follow. They’ll face the world together, even if it’s without Steve.

* * *

But Sam can’t let it rest. 

He goes to see Steve. His mind hasn’t gone like he said Peggy’s had, but he’s fragile in a way Sam never thought he’d see. They sit for awhile, together, but there’s a seed of anger in Sam’s chest that he doesn’t want to flower, so he has to get it out now. 

“I’m happy for you, I am,” he starts. Steve glances over at him, but Sam doesn't meet his gaze. “You got to live, and you were happy. But I’ll say it frankly: did you even think about us?”

Steve blinks and opens his mouth. Sam cuts him off before he can start, and okay- if that seed of anger is sprouting anyway, well. He’ll just have to keep it under control. “The people you left behind. The Avengers, they lost Natasha and Tony and now you, too. I’m still here. I thought I was your friend, I thought I could trust you. Wanda is alive, but Vision’s not, and she would have needed you, and really- I thought you were better than this, Steve. What happens, now, to Bucky?” 

Hurt flashes through Steve’s eyes, and he looks away. “I’m here because he won't be. He couldn't stand to hurt you, but you have to understand what you’ve done. There's no undoing it, I know, but you will live with the consequences. Steve, you’re my friend, but I-”

Sam’s voice breaks. He glares at his hands while he swallows and tries to continue, but Steve begins before he’s able.

“Sam, I’m sorry-” he starts, but Sam breaks him off.

“You should be!” Sam doesn't blow up at people, but that seed of anger is starting to bloom, and by God, what he’s done to Sam to Wanda to  _ Bucky _ \- he tamps it down, but there’s no way he can stay here much longer. He stands from his chair and finally looks Steve in the eye.

“I’ll say it, because he won't, because he still loves you, Steve- tell me, or don’t, but know: whatever happened to the end of the line?”

And Sam doesn't stay for his answer. He spins on his heel, and makes for the door. He can feel Steve’s stare on him the whole time.

He does not pause. He leaves, and he does not know if he will ever be back.

Whatever happened to the end of the line, indeed.


End file.
